(For Patti’s blog posts, visit the homepage or click here.)
Sap has been running steadily. I collected 45 gallons, tapped another tree, and out on the roads, homemade “tanker trucks” are numerous. These are filled with sap collected by landowners and delivered to big sugaring operations like Goodrich’s Maple Farm in Cabot on US Route 2 between Marshfield and West Danville (https://goodrichmaplefarm.com). I’m sure for many Northwoods landowners, the proceeds received from their sap is a much-appreciated component of their annual income.
“Yankee” means different things to people in different parts of the world. I was once told a Yankee to someone outside the United States is someone from the United States; a Yankee to someone in the United States is someone from New England; a Yankee to someone in New England is someone from Vermont; and a Yankee to someone in Vermont is a Vermont farmer who eats apple pie for breakfast. If my waistline wasn’t always there to remind me otherwise, I’d love to eat apple pie for breakfast every day, especially if it’s made with maple syrup substituted for some of the sugar.
The days have been mostly gray but with enough sun to fill the batteries. As the sap flows, the snow recedes. I wasn’t sure at the time what she meant, but I remember my mom always saying, “Snow is a poor (wo)man’s fertilizer.” With this in mind, though, I have been shoveling snow from the piles both in front (where it accumulates sliding off the solar panels) and back (where it is shadow-protected from the sun’s melting rays) of the red cabin to the bed of Bluebell grapes I planted last year. Right now, the five Bluebells look more like random, intertwined twiggy things than the overflowing grapevines I envisioned when planting them. I had read Yankees of yesteryear used to fortify apple juice with raisins during fermentation to boost the alcohol content in the hard cider, which was made in enormous quantities back in the day. Hence, the grapes.
After writing the previous paragraph, I went to Google and entered “nitrogen content of snow.” Lo and behold! At the top of the list is an article from Fine Gardening entitled “Snow: Poor Man’s Fertilizer” (https://www.finegardening.com/article/snow-poor-mans-fertilizer ) that begins with, “Is this familiar adage an old mother’s tale?” where I’ve substituted “mother’s” for “wive’s.” Both my mother and father would have loved the internet. There’s also this line: “Some folks actually heap snow on garden beds with bulbs or around newly planted trees for extra protection and insulation.” I guess I’m not so smart after all.
The rain that is falling today, March 29, is just on the cusp of spring, not cold enough to want to run for cover, but not warm enough to lollygag either. I walk by the grapes every 30 minutes or so when I go out to check the boiling sap. Despite what I’ve just written, I still see those spindly twigs as luxuriant and cascading with heavy clusters of plump purple fruit to be sundried and added to fermenting apple juice in the autumns to come.
The tricks imminent spring plays on you here in northern Vermont…